


Help! My boyfriend's a ghost!

by caroIdanvers



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Driving the angst straight to hell, Freeform, Horror, Kissing, M/M, Ouija Boards, Rating subject to change, Touching, au where link isn't such a wuss, but it's really not that scary, ghost au, ghost!rhett, gonna see where this goes, it's gonna get really dark, kidding, some cool symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:19:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caroIdanvers/pseuds/caroIdanvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Link Neal is a single programmer living in LA with a hidden desire to know the secrets of the afterlife and a penchant for making the worst decisions possible. He's probably about to get into some deep shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uno

Tonight was the clearest night Link Neal had seen in months. In fact, it was so particularly clear that night, that despite the smog and light pollution Los Angeles had become so famous for, one could see the faintest dusting of stars across the night sky.

On any other night, Link would've been delighted. Tonight, such an occurrence fell nothing short of ominous.

So here he was, duvet pulled over his shoulders, bringing a fourth and final white tealight candle up to his lighter and setting it back on the bed. He stared down at the tattered cardboard in front of him with a sort of sick look on his face. It was a makeshift Ouija board, letters of the alphabet spelled out with sharpie. Between his nervous fingers he held a Star Wars shot glass -- his planchette.

He'd kept trying to play it off as morbid curiousity. But now, as he was sitting here, maybe the possibility that he was going completely mad wasn't out of the question.

Link set the shot glass on the board, rim down. His heart rattled around in his ribcage like a rabid bat. He placed his middle and forefingers on the planchette. There was no doubt in his mind -- he was going mad.

Shadows danced in his peripheral vision, and he became overtook with all sorts of horrible imaginings. Empty takeout containers and gatorade bottles became terrible demons, shuddering with the candlelight. And yet, he refused to let his eyes leave the board. "Are there any spirits here tonight?" He called into the empty space in front of him. There was a pause -- one so long, that Link almost breathed a sigh of relief.

That stupid little shot glass moved, though. He could feel it -- his heart skipping a beat, the air being sucked out of his lungs, hot blood coarsing through his veins -- every damned cliché in the book. And yet, no matter how badly he wanted to tear himself away from the thing and burn it to a crisp, he didn't. He allowed the planchette to keep dragging itself towards the upper left corner of the board, where it stopped on the word YES. After a good minute of stewing in his own terror, Link asked the darkness, "Could you tell me your name?" And he let out a shudder as the answer was spelled out in front of him:

R-H-E-T-T

 

 

 

 


	2. Boop

Link showed up to the office the next day running on 3 hours of sleep and a Red Bull, which was now making him queasy. He slinked away into his cubicle, hoping no one would bat an eye. He really was trying his damndest to convince himself that last night was just a dream. That mantra was quickly falling through, though, and he soon found himself ravaging the internet for answers.

Mother always told him to be careful what he wished for. She couldn't have been more right. What he found was uncanny -- too much to ignore. Almost six years ago, one Rhett McLaughlin fell to his death from his fifth story balcony. Same building as Link's. The police consensus was that it was some kind of accident. There was no suicide note, but there was alcohol in his system. Lots of it, too. He closed out of the tab, heart thrumming in his ears, and turned. Chase, Link's desk neighbor, had propped himself up on the cubicle wall, a sort of inquisitive glint in his eye. Link faced him, a deer in the headlights.

"Wild night last night?"

Link adjusted his glasses, forced a smile, and shrugged. "What can I say?"

Chase simply shook his head. He was smirking. "The guys and I are heading out for Mongolian Barbecue. Wanna tag along?"

Link considered this for a moment. "Nah. Just head on without me,"

"Suit yourself, Neal,"

As Chase left, Link slumped back into his chair. The rest of the day went by quickly, and he was out the door as soon as the clock struck 4:30. His head buzzed on the drive home. He'd always considered ghosts a possibility. Not that he'd given it much thought until recently. It was weird -- like one of those fixations that happen out of the blue. And Link was never one to fixate. He was hoping that trying the Ouija for himself would somehow put his mind to rest. That the planchette would just sit there uselessly and he'd see what an idiot he was for even trying, and that he'd go to bed.

An undeniable feeling of anxiety came over him as he pulled into his parking spot. Against his better judgement, he made the decision to make contact once again.

After briefly fumbling with his keys, he made his way to the apartment then locked the door behind him. The ragtag sheet of cardboard had been hastily folded and shoved under the bed along with the planchette. He lit the candles just as the night before, set the shot glass down on the board. Despite the fear pulling at his insides, he'd found a strange new sense of confidence about this. It was something about doing it a second time. Knowing he wasn't about to walk into this blind.

"Are there any spirits here tonight?" He asked the board, fingers on the planchette. Those few seconds that the planchette was idle were some of the most agonizing moments of his life. He listened to his own breaths, followed it as it rolled over the word YES.

"Who am I speaking to?"

R-H-E-T-T.

Link bit the inside of his cheek, eyes glued to the board. "Why are you here?" He asked after a moment of contemplation.

B-L-O-O-D.

He suddenly felt sick -- swallowed the little bit of bile that crept up his throat. Before he could properly respond, the planchette began to move again.

H-A-H-A-H-A.

Link guffawed, and then simply laughed out loud. He just couldn't help it. The fact that this spirit had a sense of humor was so novel to him.

He felt the urge to do something daring. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he'd tapped into some secret bravado within himself.

"I want you to prove that you're really here,"

He regretted the words as they fell from his mouth, and was left in silence to wonder just how big of a mistake he'd made.

And for what felt like ages, he stewed in a silence that was almost tangible. And then it was pitch black. All four candles had gone out. A finger tapped his nose, and there was a frigid wind in his left ear. " _Boop_ ,"

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Whiskey

* * *

It was saturday. Link rolled out of bed and into the shower at 2pm. Nothing had happened since yesterday's incident. Link knew what he heard. And he knew what he felt in his nose, but he wasn't sure what he felt in his gut. He didn't know how afraid he should have been, if at all.

When he left the bathroom, a towel clinging to his hips and a thick steam wafting out into his apartment, he froze. The warm, hearty scent of whiskey was overwhelmingly present in the air. So much so, that he found his stomach turning.

Link didn't drink save for the occasional beer or two, but he knew the smell anywhere. His father would drink whiskey -- on those muggy summer nights back in North Carolina. He remembered sitting on the back porch, the cicadas buzzing along the treeline. He remembered smelling it on his father's breath as he spoke to him in that southern drawl, which was especially prominent when he had a bit of alcohol in him.

The scent of it was so strong, Link was forced to open the windows. He turned around and asked tentatively, "Rhett, is that you?"

He answered not with his voice, but with two knocks which came from inside the bedroom. They sounded very deliberate. Needy, almost. Link studied the bedroom door, debated whether or not to enable him with the attention he was clearly asking for.

Generally speaking, it wasn't within Link's nature to do precisely the opposite of what common sense told him to do just to see what would happen.

He began reasoning with himself as he started for the door. Rhett was only a spirit, and an ostensibly good-natured one at that. He couldn't possibly hurt him, could he?

Behind the door, he found the Ouija board, planchette, and candles all neatly arranged on the bed in a manner that was, again, very deliberate.

He considered the board a good long while, then simply shook his head. "I'm sorry," He told the spirit, shoving the board back under the bed. "I really can't,"

Nothing happened after that. No smells, sounds, nothing. Link was left to wonder what Rhett's intentions behind this were. Whether he chose to stay silent out of spite, or perhaps resignation. Nevertheless, Link found himself relaxing in bed that night with a book. He was amazed at his own ability to push everything about Rhett to the back of his mind, and drift off into sleep. It felt good -- he'd been sleep-deprived these past couple of days. His mind constantly racing with anxieties and speculation. It was then, right in the midst of that snowy realm between conscious and unconscious thought, that he heard the same voice: "Why won't you talk to me?"

Link nearly jumped out of his own skin. He reeled forward, and it felt that every nerve in his body was on fire. He sat there for a solid minute, listening to his own breaths, processing what he'd heard. He swallowed, pulled at the collar of his t-shirt. He'd been drenched in sweat.

"I want to," Link replied at once, huffing. He moved his jaw back and forth in a contemplative manner. "I just don't want you to get the wrong idea. That's all,"

He hoped Rhett would understand what he meant by that. He waited for a response that never came, and went to sleep chewing on his lip.


	4. Pulse

Link woke up with a bitter taste in his mouth and a growing pit in his stomach. He sighed to himself as the soles of his feet met the hardwood, cool and smooth.

He went for a run in the park in an attempt to take his mind off things. Took in the stagnant morning air. His efforts quickly proved to be in vain, as the results were exactly the opposite of what he intended. But Link was persistent. The deeper he thought of Rhett, the faster he ran, and the faster he ran, the deeper he thought of Rhett. And this vicious cycle continued until it seemed he was going as fast as legs could carry him.

He stumbled to a stop, tore his earbuds away from his head, and leaned over on his haunches. He was transfixed for a few moments. For once, he listened to his strained breaths and the hammering in his chest, and this was when he decided that the only way out was in. He had to go back and face the fervent curiosity which had led him to this mess in the first place. Only then would his mind know peace.

He came home and locked the door behind him, shed his nylon jacket and matching shoes near the kitchen table.

The board, planchette, and candles had once again been convenietly arranged on the bed. Just waiting for him. Link could hardly say he was surprised. His stomach turned at the sight nontheless. He walked over discarded and dirty clothes towards the bed, touched his lighter to each of the four white tealight candles.

"So," He called out into the space in front of him, the pads of his fingers delicate resting on the bottom of the shot glass. "What, exactly, do you want from me?" He asked at once, confident that he couldn't have been more forthright.

He waited through that long minute of palpable tension before the planchette started to glide across the surface of the cardboard.

T-O-U-C-H-Y-O-U

Link took a second to process that, to mentally reassure himself that this wasn't just a really strange vivid dream. He shrunk. He understood it, deep down. He was sure if he was dead, he'd get lonely, too -- crave human touch. Anyone would. He would've been lying if he'd said he didn't crave that contact even now.

"Okay," Link nodded. "Go ahead, if that's what you want," He said, knowing full well what he was doing by granting this spirit permission to invade his personal space.

He drew his hands away from the planchette and placed them in his lap. He shivered. The air around him must have dropped about 10 degrees. He wasn't sure why, but he squeezed his eyes shut as if he was bracing himself.

There was a sigh. Rhett was in front of him now. And he was moving gingerly, bordering on awkwardly. He took his hand, drew a line from his wrist to his knuckles. The sensation of it made Link shudder. They were both still for a moment -- Rhett, sitting there holding his hand, and Link, rigid and breathless. And then Rhett said, "You can open your eyes, y'know."

Link, astounded at his own ability to maintain his composure, looked at him. The first thing he noticed was Rhett's size. He had at least a half-foot on Link, easy. And broad, powerful shoulders which inspired a bit of envy on Link's part.

Link brought his free hand up to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and met Rhett's eyes, scrupulous and hardened.

"See?" Rhett asked. "Nothing to be afraid of," His lips quirked into a little smile, barely noticeable behind a well-groomed, dirty blond beard.

Rhett had a blue-green aura about him. It was as though there was some dim lamp illuminating him from behind, bathing him in a soft, amiable light. And his touch was frigid, so that it left his skin rough with goosebumps as his hand moved up his bicep and towards his neck. Rhett pressed his thumb firmly against his jugular, and this was when Link started to grow insecure about just how fast his heart was racing. Call him shallow, but he truly loathed to appear weak in such a way.

"You're quiet," Rhett noted.

"Not really much to say," Link replied.

"S'pose not," Rhett said, brushing his knuckles against Link's ear. His scalp tingled, and it radiated down the back of his neck, into his spine. Rhett noticed the way his eyelashes fluttered in response to this, and did it again just for kicks.

"I understand it, though. Getting lonely 'n all," Link said kind of sheepishly, and Rhett's smirk disappeared.

"You do?"

"Well, yeah...I mean, I just moved here, y'know. It's been hard on me,"

Rhett nodded sagely, his hands in his own lap now. They existed in a thoughtful silence for a minute, and it was as if they'd reached a more profound understanding of eachother. Living and dead -- fundamental opposites, yet both craving the same things.

"Feel any better?" Link asked, reaching out and feeling the hard bone of Rhett's knee.

"I do, yeah," He replied. Link smiled timidly.  
He blinked, and Rhett was gone. A faint blue-green mist settled gently over the sheets in his wake. Link went out and braved the rest of the day with a newfound sense of security and optimism. And when he looked out on the city, teeming with life and the active scope of man, he smiled -- because he found someone he liked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> srry it's been a few weeks!! i haven't forgotten about this trust me i've just been busy. thanks for all your kudos and kind words. i hope u enjoyed chapter 4 as short as it was :*


	5. Hot/Cold

  
Daniela Hamilton was a businesswoman through and through; a pantsuit-clad pragmatist with a relatively short fuse. Link wanted nothing more than to stay on her good side, especially as she sat poised across from him in that big leather chair. Intimidating, it seemed, almost by design.

"You look terrible,"

Link gave a tight-lipped frown. "I know. I haven't been getting any sleep and...I don't know...." He trailed off, avoiding her eyes.

"Is that why you haven't been getting any work done?"

Link shrunk back into his chair. If he'd had a tail, it most certainly would have been tucked between his legs right then.

Daniela sighed. "I'm sending you home for the day," She decided. "Come back tomorrow with your shit together, Neal. This is your only warning,"

Link nodded dutifully, and proceeded with the walk of shame towards the exit, felt the eyes on his back. On the drive home, he noticed a warmth in his gut when he thought of Rhett. When he'd get to talk to him next. What he'd learn.

He found himself recalling Rhett's touch. How frigid it was. That electric current that seemed to shake his body when he felt it. Link, in fact, found himself missing that touch. As backwards as it felt, (the dude was a ghost, for christ's sake) he very much wanted Rhett to touch him again.

When he came home, he found Rhett scouring the kitchen cupboards. Link frowned, though remained silent.

"Why don't you keep any booze around?" He called from inside the fridge, and Link set his things down at the table.

"I don't like the way it makes me feel," Link replied. "How does a ghost even get drunk, anyways?"

"Same as everyone else," Rhett said, shutting the fridge and finally turning to see him. "With emotional pain and the need to bury it,"

Link sat down at the table and eyed him pensively.

"You're home early," Rhett noted.

"Boss sent me home," Link said, shaking his head. Rhett looked at him as if to say, 'oh, really?'. Link took the liberty of explaining himself. "I've just been falling behind, y'know?"

"Well," Rhett started, coming across the kitchen and standing parallel to him. "Looks like it's just you and me again." He paused. "That scare you?"

"I don't know, should it?"

And Rhett was next to him before he could bat an eye, leaning upon the kitchen table, observing him from above. Rhett sighed at him, reached down and adjusted Link's collar. "That mouth of yours must get you in quite a bit of trouble. Always asking things you got no business asking."

Rhett looked at him as if to say, 'Whatever will I do with you?'

"Only as of late," Link replied, craning his neck to meet Rhett's gaze, caught off guard, but to his credit, calm.

"To answer your question, it should scare you. Because I can see you. All of you,"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know your feelings. Your desires. You're at your most vulnerable when you're with me,"

He reached down and took Link's jaw, tilted his head to the side. "Deep down, you're loving this. You're just too afraid to admit it. Am I wrong?"

Link was rigid, hot. He was unsure, though did not reject Rhett's touch. When he failed to reply, Rhett began to lean down, pulling their faces close together.

He shuddered when their lips met, and suddenly Rhett was warm, his lips rough, pliant. Electric. The kiss lasted all of about 3 seconds. Link was the one to break it. He felt Rhett go cold as he pulled away, stood up and stumbled backwards, knocking the chair clumsily to the side. Rhett eyed him, his face unreadable.

"This isn't right."

His heart beat against the walls of his chest furiously, an icy sweat trickling down the nape of his neck.

"Why? Is it because I'm a man?"

Link guffawed, incredulous. "No, Rhett, it's because you're dead!" 

Rhett squinted at him, and then they both startled -- someone was at the door. They looked at it, and then exchanged glances of shared distress.

"Link? Are you there?" It was Chase. He must've come to check on him after what'd happened. He knocked once again.

The door opened. Link, trembling and hot, kicked himself for not having locked it. A wide-eyed Chase stood in the doorway regarding them both -- but before either of them had the chance to speak, he fainted. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> srry about the wait ;*


	6. Clash

  
Link sat upon the cloth chair in the living room. He'd been white-knuckling the armrest the entire time, surely making permanent marks in the upholstery. It was as though he was not even there. He found himself wedged between two extremes of rage and horror.

A pale and positively sick Chase sat on the couch with a blanket draped over his trembling shoulders.

"But....you _died_ ," Chase reasoned weakly, shaking his head.

"That's right."

"So...what are you trying to say? That...that you're a ghost?"

Rhett nodded. "Yeah."

This was just the icing on the cake. Really. The last thing in the world Link needed was another person in on this ghost scandal. To put it simply, he was pissed; chiefly at himself.

"And you're...haunting my desk neighbor?"

"Haunting isn't really the word I'd use for it."

"Okay. So how've you been, man? What's being dead like?"

Link's face fell into his hands. Was he the only one who saw how ridiculous this was?

When he looked up, he saw Rhett and Chase just looking at him. He looked past them at the bathroom. An overwhelming feeling of nausea had come upon him, a trickle of sweat down his forehead.

"You okay there, Link?" Rhett asked.

Link simply stared at him, dumbfounded, then rose from his seat. "Chase, you need to leave."

"What? We were just --"

"I mean it," Link said, taking him by the arm and pulling him towards the door. "Leave. And please, please don't tell anyone about this. Better yet, forget this even happened. Can you do that for me, Chase?"

Chase fumbled for words, though seemed bereft of any coherent response. All he could muster was a broken and shaky apology. And Link ended up all but shoving him out into the hallway, slamming the door in his pale, bewildered face.

Link spun on his heels to look at Rhett. "What in the hell was that about?"

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

" _I can see you. All of you_ ," Link mocked, incredulous.

Rhett stammered, tossed his hands into the air. "I was trying to be sexy!"

Link stormed over to the other side of the apartment, finger-combing sweat-dampened hair. "Really, well, no offense, Rhett, but you seem to've lost your touch."

"Yeah. Being dead for 5 years can do that to a guy."

It was at this moment that Link Neal considered just how in over his head he was. He just stood there like some kind of moron, leaning against the kitchen counter. Face in his hands. And he was finding it very difficult to decide which was more horrifying: the fact that ghosts were real, or the fact that he had genuine feelings for one.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't forgotten abt this i promise

**Author's Note:**

> more to come (?)


End file.
